


Awkward Conversations About Threesomes

by Silent-Wordsmith (Shatteredsand)



Series: Awkward Conversations [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Hate Sex, Multi, Polyamory, Power Play, Prelude to OT3, Relationship Negotiation, Wall Sex, Werewolf!Danny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatteredsand/pseuds/Silent-Wordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla and Danny don’t like it when Laura is distressed. This whole love triangle thing is distressing her. Carmilla comes up with a solution. Things don’t quite go to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awkward Conversations About Threesomes

**Author's Note:**

> AN: The chat made me do it. Not even sorry about it. Takes place in some nebulous time after the whole thing with the Dean and the missing girls has been taken care of.
> 
> Dedications: To Slay, the light of my life, #kiltpics. To Buzz, who is my broest of bros. To Random, who sent the best fucking live review I have ever had the pleasure of receiving. And to Natalie, the only one of you basic bishes who wished me luck when I asked for it.

“I hate you.”

As far as beginnings go, it’s not the most auspicious. Carmilla is determined to power through, regardless, though. This is important. In a hundred years, there’s never been anything to stand between Carmilla and what she wants. This mangy _mutt_ isn’t going to be the first.

“I hate you more.” Carmilla glowers. “Not the point.”

“It feels like the point.”

“Well, it’s not.” Carmilla reminds herself, forcibly, that murdering Danny will in no way endear her to Laura. It will, in fact, most likely create further distance between them.

“Then what is the point? I could be studying with Laura in the quad right now instead of wasting time with your undead ass.”

Carmilla takes a deep breath. She could probably get away with the homicide, actually. So long as Laura never found out… No. Danny’s disappearance alone would upset Laura to the extreme, never mind if her death were to ever be confirmed. Laura would probably suspect her, anyways, even if there wasn’t any evidence. _Especially_ if there wasn’t any evidence. Carmilla breathes out a long, drawn out sigh, and lights a cigarette instead. It’s nowhere near as satisfying as she imagines ripping Danny’s throat out would be, but it takes a bit of the edge off.

“Seriously?”

Not enough of the edge. Carmilla allows herself one, moderately brief fantasy involving the complete dismemberment of the other girl. Then, she reels it in, and gets to work.

First things first, she makes a point of putting the cigarette out. An act of goodwill, despite the fact that she’s not sure she can actually muster any up. “The _point_ is that Laura is into you.”

Danny looks immeasurably pleased by Carmilla’s admission. Almost smug. The bitch.

“And Laura is into me.” Carmilla can’t stop the rush of joy that comes with watching that stupid look drop off Danny’s face like a hundred pound weight. “And it’s bothering her.”

“So, back off.”

“How ‘bout you back off? No? Didn’t think so.” Danny opens her mouth to say something, probably really fucking stupid, and Carmilla is having none of it. “Shut. _Up_. I have a solution.

“You don’t like it when Laura’s upset. I don’t like it when Laura’s upset. Her inability to choose is making her upset.”

“So…?”

“So, we don’t make her choose.”

It’s no small measure of pleasure to witness the expression on Danny’s face slip from aggressive hostility to dumbfounded stupor. Carmilla doesn’t even try to fight off the smirk twisting at the corners of her lips.

“Oh.”

Yeah. _Oh_. Carmilla has no idea what Laura sees in her. She can understand the initial appeal. Six foot, entirely composed of leg, and her eyes are a shade of blue that is Carmilla is fairly certain she’s never seen in all her years. But still.

“You mean…”

Carmilla is pretty damn sure that it’s obvious what she means, but if the idiot needs her to spell it out…

“Come on, Danny,” It’s unexpectedly easy to pull out her so-called seduction eyes. A tilt of her head and quirk of her eyebrow, and she’s looking up at the junior through her lashes. “You can’t tell me you never thought about it.”

The flush blossoming across Danny’s face coincides with the scent of arousal bombarding Carmilla’s heightened senses, and it’s all the confirmation she needs.

“You have, right? About the way she’d sound while I touched her, every little cry and moan. The way she’s writhe for me, but she’d be looking straight at you. About how she’d taste on my tongue against your lips.”

Danny makes this sound at the back of her throat, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and this time the arousal is Carmilla’s.

“So, here’s what we’re going to do, Danny.” Carmilla sidles a little closer, biting her lower lip just to watch the way Danny seems incapable of not watching the point of her fangs sink into soft flesh. “We’re gonna go find Laura, together, and then we’re going to do everything to her that the both of us have been thinking about since we met the girl.”

“Yeah…” Danny is still looking at Carmilla’s lips as she speaks, and the temptation is simply too great to resist.

Carmilla couldn’t tell you which of them moved first. A blur of motion, action and reaction, and then nothing but a lack of space between them.  The crush of moving, still breathing chest against deathly still. Warm lips against cool, vicious in their intensity. Blunted human teeth biting into plump, red lips. Fingers curled nearly to claws fisted in long hair and soft cotton. The scrape of claws—actual claws; someone is clearly very much out of control, but Carmilla is no longer certain which one of them that is—against unnaturally pale skin.

Carmilla presses forward again, because it is her nature to do so and she cannot find the will to deny it here and now, like this. Danny is strong and steady under the onslaught, but only for a moment. That is _her_ nature, Carmilla knows. To stand her ground, never give an inch, dominate. But Carmilla is far older and far stronger—and maybe Danny doesn’t _want_ to resist—and she takes with the selfishness of all her kind, pressing further until the Danny’s back slams against the wardrobe behind her with a dull thud.

There is a separation then—if they were to reclaim their wits, now would be the time—as one pair of lungs strains for oxygen. Carmilla has no time for such delays, such mortal hindrances. Instead, while the werewolf beneath her tries desperately to breathe, Carmilla redirects her attention to the soft skin redhead’s neck.

She smells of the forest and rainfall, and the scent of freshly trodden earth clings to her flesh as though the beast in her had been rolling in it mere moments ago instead of weeks. It’s not tea and chocolate, lavender and peaches—it’s not Laura—though the trace of it, of her, is there as well. Seeping over Danny’s skin from contact and exposure.

It makes Carmilla want. Far more than anything Danny had done since their collision.

She lavishes the skin—the echo of a scent—with lips and teeth and tongue, relishes in the deep, guttural groans the ministrations draw from Danny’s lips.

Hands slide up Carmilla’s arms, over her shoulders, and back down to raise red welts along her side. The hiss of pain sparks something like victory in Danny’s eyes before Carmilla culls it ruthlessly with a kiss demanding and cruel, almost more bite than anything else. The sound is back again, the choking sob of a moan, and Carmilla delights in it even as Danny’s claws dig deeper into her waist.

When Danny pulls away again, chest heaving and breaths ragged, Carmilla finds her patience for any kind of game long since expired. There will be time for that, perhaps, later. In this here and now, however, there is a need burning brightly in both of them, and no more time to spend wasting seconds on a competition they both know Carmilla has already won.

“I want your panties in my pocket, your tongue in my mouth, and your fingers on my clit. Now. Any questions?” Carmilla doesn’t wait for an answer, refastening her lips to the expanse of pale skin and the pounding of the jugular vein and moving her hands to Danny’s jeans to make quick work of the button and zip.

If Danny has any objections, she doesn’t give them voice or action, long fingers tugging at the edges of Carmilla’s corset eagerly.

“ _No_.” Carmilla growls, slapping the hand away. “I told you where I want you.”

Danny’s fingers slip down obligingly, only to stutter to a stop when Carmilla discards the pretense of even pretending to be fucking around by shoving the other girl’s pants around her knees and ripping the scrap of lace away from her dripping cunt. She shoves the shredded garment exactly where she’d said she would, stuffing them into her back pocket carelessly.

“Fuck.” Danny pants out, and Carmilla’s answering grin is possibly the smuggest she’s ever worn.

“Fingers.” She reminds the wolf sharply, before slipping her own into soaking wet heat without warning.

Danny unleashes a keening whine, hips bucking, but she manages to follow orders. Slips trembling fingers into tight, leather pants

“Good dog.”

There’s the start of a snarl in response, but it gets lost in a moan as Carmilla begins to move her hand. Danny tries to match her pace, and Carmilla can’t stop the smirk when she realizes that the wolf _can’t_. She wouldn’t even if she could, small vengeances, remember? If she can’t beat Danny out for the position of Laura’s love, she’s damn sure she’s going to beat her at everything else.

Starting with this.

There’s a thrill that comes with dominating a beast so easily. Werewolves are the height of wildness, and one of the few creatures actually capable of even attempting to fight a vampire. But Danny isn’t fighting; she’s too busy _begging_ for it. The bitch may swagger around like she thinks she’s top dog, but the pleas falling from frantic lips say otherwise.

A breathy litany of profanities and invocations to Artemis and Apollo and please and _Carmilla_ that have almost as much to do with Carmilla’s fast approaching orgasm as the press of Danny’s fingers against her. The desperate clenching around her fingers tells Carmilla that Danny’s nearly there as well.

The sound of the door swinging open barely registers, distant and abstract and irrelevant. It has nothing to do with the redhead writhing beneath her or the steady pressure against Carmilla’s clit, and so it is meaningless. The sound that follows it, however, the confused little “meep” preceding a helpless, pained whimper rings in her ears with perfect clarity.

Oh, _shit_.

Under the heavy stink of Danny and Carmilla and want and _sex_ is tea and chocolate, lavender and peaches.

Carmilla’s eyes snap open as she jerks away from Danny. This doesn’t actually help matters, because without Carmilla’s body blocking the view, Laura can now see the fact that Danny’s pants are around her knees with her underwear nowhere within sight and Carmilla’s pants are undone.

“Oh. Um. Sorry?”  Laura doesn’t sound sorry; she sounds _mortified_. Before Carmilla can any think of what she could possibly say in this situation, Laura turns on her heel and bolts. Carmilla knows that, logically, she can’t blame Laura from running away from the sight of her two crushes fucking against an armoire. Since logic has seldom been Carmilla’s friend throughout the decades, however, she doesn’t give a fuck.

Without giving the panting werewolf—so fucking slow, still trying to pull her goddamned pants up—Carmilla is out the door after her roommate with the world’s worst timing. Carmilla’s own pants remain unbuttoned and open, but honestly she doesn’t give a fuck. She’s over three hundred years old. She has bared her body for pleasure and for purpose to more people than she cares to remember, significant and meaningless alike, and this is more important than what a bunch of stupid _children_ might think if they’re lucky enough to catch a peek.

“Laura, wait!” This may, in fact, be the first time she’s ever called her by her given name, but something tells her that any kind of pet name would not go over well right now.

Laura doesn’t wait. Of course she doesn’t. Because when has Laura ever done anything that would make Carmilla’s life _less_ difficult?

Laura is now making Carmilla’s life so difficult, right now. Starting with her abrupt departure from their room before Carmilla could explain that the wall fucking she’d interrupted was a good thing and not a cause for distress, and continuing now with the fact that she’s run to _Kirsch_ of all people.

The large puppy so fond of pretending to be a boy is holding her with—to his credit—real concern in his eyes and a frown carved into his face instead of the idiotic, self-centered grin he could be wearing because he has his arms around Laura. Her face is buried in his chest, his ape-arms wrapped all around her.

A flare of possessive shoots through her, but she does her best to tamp it down. She needs to able to make Laura listen to her, after all, and disembowelment isn’t conducive to that end.

“Whoa, scare-hottie.” Kirsch says, his eyes incapable of _not_ darting down to her open pants, “I don’t think the tiny hottie is down for it.”

“Well, I think you’re an idiot child with no comprehension of the events taking place, so.”

“I think if Laura wanted to talk to you, she would be talking to you.” Kirsch points out as, for better or worse, Danny—finally, did she fucking finish herself off before following? Useless—manages to catch up to them.

Apparently, Hell hath no fury like a werewolf who had been approximately six seconds away from orgasm before being interrupted.

Danny wastes no time with words. Carmilla watches a fist fly out with a speed just barely slowed to something “normal” and “human”. Kirsch drops, the poor bastard. Carmilla might feel worse about that if, you know, she gave a damn about the boy. But she doesn’t, and he’s got his hands on Laura, and there is a conversation that needs to be happening right now that isn’t.

“Oh my God, Danny!” Comes Laura’s horrified squeak.

Something twists in Carmilla’s stomach when Laura looks up at them, the sting of salt in the air and tear-stains on her cheeks.

Unacceptable. The purpose of her tryst with the wolf had been to avoid something just like this. Sure, they’d gotten a bit carried away, but the point of it was always to prevent this. And now they’ve caused it.

Gods, irony has always been Carmilla’s most ardent suitor.

“We need to talk to you.” Carmilla says, because she seems to be the only one of the three still capable of using her words.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“That’s because you’re throwing a tantrum instead of listening. Thirty seconds of patience and you’d be doing that stupid, smug grin thing I loathe so much.”

Unsurprisingly, Carmilla sees that she has made an error in judgment, pushed too hard too fast. She does that, sometimes. The tease was meant to be gentle and fond and remind Laura that, _hey, dumb-dumb you **like** me_ , but instead it’s just made her angry.

Tiny, adorable face scrunched up with rage. Eyes narrowed to thin slits, hand raised to gesticulate as she shouts, even before the shouting’s begun.

“Laura. Please.”

Ah, the mutt’s recovered enough to speak now. Carmilla watches Danny out of the corner of her eye. Takes in the shaking hands still curled into fists, the tight tension of the sinews clinging to her bones, the clench of too many, too sharp teeth. Heartbeat racing through her veins, sex and want and sorrow and hysterical anxiety all knotted together in her scent. The wolf is right beneath the skin, and Danny is inches from _losing_ it.

Laura must see it too, because she softens, then wilts entirely.

“Okay.”

The march back to the dorm room is somber and awkward, but Carmilla can’t think of anything to say that won’t make everything worse and neither of her companions seem keen to make an attempt of their own. The silence continues until Carmilla has closed their door behind the three of them.

Laura sits on her own bed, eyes darting wildly to avoid looking at Carmilla or Danny or the dresser. She takes a deep breath, and seems to steel herself for a moment.

“Okay. I’m listening.”


End file.
